


pretty good bad idea

by malapertqueen



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Hotel Sex, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7124029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malapertqueen/pseuds/malapertqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hotel bar, two strangers, and expensive scotch. A bad idea never seemed so good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pretty good bad idea

**Author's Note:**

> For my whamfam, with love.

Alex hates these parties--the fake smiles and subtle posturing, trying harder to be seen with important people than having anything of substance to contribute to the conversation. He’s only here because John insisted he come along. These are the kind of people John grew up around, the political and social elite wearing clothes that cost more than the rent on Alex’s shitty apartment and their complete lack of give-a-shit for anyone but themselves, patting each other on the back for being so generous and sparing a few thousand dollars out of their millions for the ‘less fortunate’.

He’s been standing by the bar in the obnoxiously opulent hotel ballroom most of the night, watching John flit from conversation to conversation with the same fake veneer smile that’s mirrored by every other trust fund brat in this room (unfair to John, who most of the time isn’t nearly as fake as he’s pretending to be). The rail whiskey and coke he’s been nursing for nearly an hour is mostly melted ice at this point but he’s only got enough money for cab fare home in case John decides to pull below his weight and go home with one of these losers, so he takes another sip and grimaces at the watered-down taste.

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying that very much, ” a deep voice intones from behind him and Alex turns, doing his best not to gawk like a fucking idiot at the broad, tall man who is standing next to him, one eyebrow raised in polite question.

Alex shrugs, feigning a nonchalance he doesn’t really feel. “I’ve had worse,” he says, setting his watery drink down on the bar. It’s a rookie mistake, because now he doesn’t have anything to occupy his hands and the urge to fidget under that gaze is overwhelming.

“Let’s fix that, shall we?” Then man flags down the bartender, just the raise of his fingers summoning the man to them with the alacrity that comes from being used to attending to people in positions of power. “Two glasses of Lagavulin, neat.”

Before Alex can even register a weak protest, the bartender has both glasses up on the bar and pours them each a generous measure of scotch. The man slides a folded hundred dollar bill across the bar and waves the bartender away, then slides one of the glasses towards Alex.

“Drink up,” he says, and it’s definitely not a request.

Alex isn’t about to waste what he knows is a twenty dollar glass of scotch, especially when the hottest guy in the room is the one buying it for him, so he picks up the glass and takes a slow sip. It’s the best scotch he’s ever tasted, smooth and smoky on his tongue, and he can’t help the hum of appreciation that escapes his list at the taste.

The man gives him a slow nod in approval, taking a drink from his own glass before speaking. “Good, isn’t it?”

“It’s very good,” Alex replies. “Thank you.” The last time he’d had a glass of anything approaching this good was when John had bought him a glass of Glenlivet when they’d gone out to celebrate Alex’s acceptance to grad school--it had only been the one glass that one time, because Alex is too broke to order anything but rail and he hates it when John spends money on him, but it left him with a deep appreciation for a good scotch and the Lagavulin definitely earns that title. Someday, when he’s actually making a decent salary, expensive scotch is probably going to be his socially acceptable vice.

The man waves off his thanks. “I hate drinking alone,” he says, raising an eyebrow when Alex tries to stifle a laugh at that statement. “It’s true. And you looked like you’d rather drown yourself than mingle with this crowd of pompous blowhards. I thought a good drink would be the least I could do before you flung yourself into the East river.”

Alex does laugh this this time, unable to help himself, and is rewarded with a genuine smile from fromt he man that makes Alex’s heart stutter. It only gets worse when the man takes another sip of his drink, his tongue darting out to catch an errant drop. The sight makes something low and heavy twist in Alex’s gut, which he forces away with another mouthful of the Lagavulin.

 _Get it together_ , he mentally scolds himself. It’s hard not to look at him though; the guy is the kind of handsome that most people can only dream about being, imposingly tall and build like a brick wall in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. It’s hitting all sorts of buttons Alex didn’t even know he had until right in this moment, which is possibly the worst time he could ever discover that he is, in fact, attracted to men who are both larger and older than him. The hipster polisci grads he’s been casually picking up at bars for months now have nothing on this guy.

“So, is there a name I should give the police just in case you do decide to go for a swim?” the object of his newfound obsession asks, breaking Alex’s train of thought.

“Alex,” he offers, holding out his free hand for the man to shake.

“George.” It might be wishful thinking, but it feels to Alex  like George holds on a touch too long before he releases Alex’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Alex.”

He swallows hard, forcing back the inappropriate swell of _want_ that rises in him at the touch. Despite his attempts, his “Likewise, sir,” comes out low and husky, more hungry than polite.

Panicking and for lack of anything else to do, Alex brings the glass to his lips again and nearly chokes on the swallow of scotch as something in George’s sharp gaze darkens as it fixes on his mouth. Alex is already half-hard and if George keeps staring at him like that, it’s not going to be half of anything for much longer.

It’s only a momentary lapse, a brief second before George clears his throat, his expression smoothing out into something more neutral. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these events before. Are you part of the foundation?”

“My roommate is,” Alex clarifies, obscenely grateful for something to talk about that won’t end up with him saying something incredibly stupid. “I’m at Columbia Law.”

“What’s your focus?” Normally, Alex would assume that George was just making conversation to be polite while looking for an exit point, but his focus is still one hundred percent on Alex and not on looking for a way out of the conversation, which is an interesting change of pace considering how most rich people usually treat guys like him.

“International affairs. I’m in my last year of the joint J.D. and International Affairs program.”  

George nods. “That’s an impressive combination. Planning on the private sector, or are you looking towards public service?”

It’s not an unexpected question, but it does make Alex pause. If George is in politics, Alex doesn’t want him to write him off as just another desperate kid looking for a handout and not just because he actually does want a job in politics someday. But lying is probably a one way ticket to the end of this conversation, so he gives a half-shrug. “Someday, yeah. I’m interested actually getting things done though, not just looking good and making nice.”

“Getting things done general does require a bit of ‘making nice’,” George observes dryly, a spark of humor in his dark eyes. “But an admirable sentiment none the less.”

“Admirable sentiments don’t get much done either,” Alex counters without thinking and George’s heavy eyebrows raise in mild surprise. Shit. So much for making a good impression.

“Be that as it may,” George’s tone is dry--on anyone else, it might have been teasing, but Alex is pretty sure George isn’t the type to tease a random guy he just met. Then again, the way he had looked at Alex’s mouth before, who knows what this guy is hiding. “I can admire the straightforwardness. Too many people walk into politics thinking they can get by on a ten grand smile and a spray tan.”

Well damn. That wasn’t what Alex had been expecting at all. “A spray tan would look pretty stupid on me,” he says, raising an eyebrow. To his surprise, George smirks at his joke and Alex has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to refocus his attention to something other than the way that smile sends a bolt of heat straight to his dick.

Emboldened by the buzz from the scotch, Alex decides to be a little daring; he takes another sip from his glass, letting his tongue drag across his lower lip to chase the taste as his gaze meets George’s almost in challenge. This time the change in George’s face is subtle but the way his fingers grip the glass in his hand just a bit tighter and the slight shift to the way he’s standing betrays the effect Alex’s little stunt is having.

George slips one hand into his pants pocket and for one hilarious second, Alex thinks he might actually be trying to adjust himself in public. If he does, it’s too subtle for Alex to notice, but there’s a faint rasp in his voice when he speaks again.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Alex. I’m sorry to cut our conversation short, but I have an early meeting tomorrow.” George’s expression smooths back into something more neutral, but there’s a subtle weight to his words that sets Alex’s pulse racing again. Before he has time to respond, George’s hand reappears from his pocket, subtly slipping a hotel keycard envelope neatly beneath the napkin under Alex’s glass. His expression never wavers. “I hope you have a good night.”

“You too,” Alex replies, proud of the way he manages to keep his voice steady. George just nods, a brief hint of a smile on his lips before he walks away, moving through the crowd with a few handshakes and smiles before disappearing through the exit.

Holy _shit_.

This is stupid. This is colossally stupid and Alex really should just leave the keycard under the napkin and pretend none of this ever happened. He’s normally all about casual hookups, but this guy screams ‘power’ and ‘old money’, the combination of which would normally send Alex running in the other direction. But Alex can’t help but remember the way George looked at him, that brief moment of unrestrained desire unleashed like a punch to the gut. That glance held the kind of promise that has Alex’s dick standing at attention, ready and willing to see if George is as good as he looks.

Before he can talk himself out of it Alex swipes the keycard from under the napkin and tucks it in his pocket then downs the rest of his drink in one quick swallow--both for the courage and because it would be absolutely criminal to waste good scotch. Setting the glass down with a surprisingly steady hand, he slowly winds his way through the indifferent crowd and out into the lobby before he remembers he didn’t come to this party alone.

It only takes him a second to dig out his phone and send John a text telling him not to wait up. John is quick with a response, sending him a thumbs up and several eggplant emoji for good measure, and Alex bites back an inappropriate laugh--what would John say, if he knew that Alex’s assumed booty call was with a guy who’s probably almost twice his age. Jesus Christ.

With his fingers curled tightly around the keycard in his pocket and trying to project the kind of lazy arrogance of someone who is supposed to be able to afford a room at this place, Alex makes his way to the elevators and manages, miraculously, to catch an empty car. Once he’s inside and doors shut, he pulls the envelope with the keycard out of his pocket and notes the room number, hitting the button for the twelfth floor with shaking fingers. _It’s not too late to back out_ , he tells himself, staring at his reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator. Compared to George’s understated yet perfectly tailored look, Alex looks like a kid trying to dress up like one of the grownups and failing miserably; ill-fitting suit, cheap tie, and scruffed dress shoes that no amount of polishing will fix.

What the fuck did George even see in him? Just another slutty young thing who’d jump at the chance to suck dick in exchange for a foot in the door somewhere? Alex is ambitious and more than a little bit reckless but he's not that awed by powerful men to just drop to his knees for the chance at a job no matter how hot the guy might be. He’s gotten this far on his own, he doesn’t need some rich old guy deciding to be his sugar daddy.

Before Alex can second-guess himself into hitting the button for the lobby and getting the fuck out of there, the elevator quietly dings its arrival on the twelfth floor and he’s faced with an open set of doors to a long hallway.

Fuck it. He’s come this far already.

\--

Since George gave him the keycard Alex is spared the tense anxiety of knocking and quietly unlocks the door, checking the hallway over his shoulder one last time for any sign of someone following him before he quietly slips inside the suite and shuts the door behind him.

He almost walks back out again when he realizes that of course George wouldn't just have a normal suite, he's got the goddamn presidential suite, all gilded mirrors and drapery that probably cost as much as Alex's first semester at Columbia. Jesus--he thought the ballroom was ostentatious but this place is borderline obscene.

“It's a little much, isn't it?” George’s voice sounds from somewhere to his left and Alex turns, spotting the man lounging casually in one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace, a hint of a smile on his lips. He’s still impeccably dressed. “I usually wouldn't bother, but I couldn't seem to get the hotel manager to change his mind about putting me in this particular suite.”

“Well, it’s definitely something,” Alex quips, then holds back the urge to wince--what kind of response was that? But George is still looking at him, still wearing that enigmatic little smile as he stands, crossing the room to stop just before Alex who hasn’t moved any further than the suite’s small foyer.

“Do you want another drink?” George’s voice is a low drawl, so quiet that the sound of Alex’s heartbeat pounding in his ears almost drowns out the words.

Alex meets George’s gaze steadily. “No.”

That seems to be all the signal George needs and Alex finds himself pressed against the door, George’s mouth on his. George still tastes faintly of the scotch from earlier, just enough that Alex chases the taste with his tongue, unthinking. That earns a low groan from George which Alex swallows, clutching the lapels of George’s suit in his hands to pull him closer.

George’s mouth moves down Alex’s jaw and throat, sucking hard, sharp kisses against the sensitive skin with the barest hint of teeth. Alex gasps and tilts his head back, hitting the door with a solid thump, and he feels more than hears George’s huff of laughter against his throat.

“Let’s move this someplace more comfortable,” George suggests in a warm drawl, wrapping his fingers around Alex’s skewed tie, giving it a tug to pull Alex away from the wall before letting go.

Despite the suggestion, George doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get to the bedroom--they only get a few feet away from the door before he presses Alex against the wall again, this time to strip him of his jacket and tie, broad fingers sliding underneath Alex’s shirt and pressing hard enough into his skin that Alex lets out an involuntary whine, rocking his hips in search of some kind of friction to alleviate the ache in his dick. That earns him another bruisingly hard kiss, broken only by George pulling him away from the wall and walking him backwards into the bedroom.

Alex doesn’t have time to get a good look around the room before George’s mouth is on his again, the lack of oxygen mixed with the residual warmth of the scotch making him dizzy. He doesn’t even notice that George’s got a hand in his hair until his fingers tighten around the strands and Alex gasps, his whole body arching up into the pull.

“Ah,” George says, clearly humored by his reaction, and the hand in his hair pulls again. Alex bites back a whine, a little humiliated that George can pull this kind of response from him with just a pull on his hair. But the jolt of heat that burns under his skin at every tug burns away most of the shame, leaving him panting and more than a little desperate.

Alex drops to his knees, pressing his cheek against George’s thigh as one of those broad hand cards through Alex’s hair, a little more gentle this time. “Can I...” he trails off, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth when George winds the length of Alex’s hair around his hand again and tugs sharply.

Taking that as permission, Alex fumbles at George’s belt buckle until his fingers steady enough to makes quick work of his belt and fly, tugging the zipper down with his teeth before pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the impressive bulge of George’s dick through his boxers.

Above him, George lets out a soft groan and Alex hides a grin against his thigh before sliding his hand inside George’s boxers, curling his fingers around his dick. It’s not the biggest Alex has ever encountered but George is definitely not lacking either. It’s certainly more than enough to impart a little urgency to his movements as he frees George’s dick and licks a stripe from base to tip.

The hand in his hair tightens almost imperceptibly and Alex looks up at George under lowered lashes, unsurprised yet pleased with the openly hungry way the other man is watching him as he swirls his tongue briefly around the tip, eliciting another choked groan from George. This isn’t exactly how he imagined his night going when he agreed to come with John to the stupid gala but Alex really isn’t in any mood to complain, not when he’s got George at the mercy of his (admittedly pretty excellent) blowjob skills.

Alex takes his time swallowing more of George’s cock, working with the kind of single-minded purpose that he usually reserves for more professional endeavors, his hands gripping George’s suit-clad thighs to steady himself. He’s not unaware of the his own erection, still painfully trapped in his own trousers, and shifts his hips to alleviate some of the pressure. The movement doesn’t escape notice, eliciting a low, rumbling laugh from George. He rolls his hips up into Alex’s mouth, his fingers still tangled in Alex’s hair and Alex moans, taking him as deep as he can until there are tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

“This what you want?” The rough edge to his voice makes Alex groan around George’s cock. “You want me to fuck your mouth?”

 _Fuck._ Alex pulls off just long enough to gasp out a “Yeah,” in a hoarse whisper before he dives back in, swallowing George’s cock down again until the tip hits the back of his throat. He gags a little before he finds the rhythm of it again.

George is ruthless--he fucks Alex’s mouth with short, sharp pumps of his hips, his fingers fisting in Alex’s hair to guide him with every thrust. Alex doesn’t hold back either, hollowing his cheeks and moaning until George pulls him off with another sharp tug on his hair. The ache in Alex’s jaw is nothing compared to the ache in his dick but he’s too focused on the way George’s pupils are blown, his breathing ragged and harsh in the otherwise silent bedroom.

“Get undressed.” A command, one Alex follows it without question, nearly tripping over himself as he strips off the rest of his clothes until he’s standing in front of George completely naked. George is still dressed, only the front of his pants undone thanks to Alex, and it strikes him as a little unfair.

“What about you?” he asks, daring, looking up at George from under lowered lashes as he curls a hand around George’s tie. It’s a cheap trick but it works; George makes a low noise in the back of his throat and kisses Alex again, nipping at his lower lip before pushing him back and away.

George reaches up with one hand, loosening his tie, and Alex has to look away for a second to keep himself from doing something stupid. Fuck, now he’s thinking of George using his tie to bind Alex’s hands and this is not the time or the place for that kind of trust exercise, nevermind how badly he wants it.

“On the bed,” George says, snapping Alex out of his fantasy. Alex’s gaze flicks back to George, who’s already out of his suit jacket and is working the buttons on his shirt, slow and methodical in a way that Alex has a hard time not watching. He’s never been that into hands, but fuck if George’s aren’t beautiful, broad and dark against the stark white of his shirt. Those hands pause and Alex blinks, realizing he’s hasn’t actually moved and has just been staring at George’s hands this entire time.

He scrambles onto the bed, noting with amusement that George has planned ahead and already set out a handful of condoms and a bottle of lube on the ridiculously ornate bedside table. Convenient. He settles himself with his back against the pillows, watching George methodically finish undressing. His boxers are the last thing to come off and even though Alex had his mouth around the man’s dick not five minutes ago, what he sees now is enough to make his toes curl, his cock standing at full attention again.

Without the suit in the way, Alex has a perfect view of George’s broad shoulders and the curve of his biceps--not the kind of gym-rat over-defined muscle, but still defined enough that Alex wants to taste every inch of skin. No one who’s probably nearly twice his age has a right to look that good naked. It’s unfair.

George is looking at him again, giving his cock a lazy stroke. Alex’s eyes follow the movement automatically, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his mouth, and he hears George chuckle.

“Turn over. On your knees.” This time George’s voice is rougher but there’s no less command in it and Alex doesn’t waste time, rolling over onto his hands and knees so fast he nearly falls over himself. He’s happy to let George take the lead here if it means getting fucked until he can’t see straight. From behind him, he hears footsteps and then the bed dips as George finally joins him.

“Good boy,” he hears, and Alex shivers at the praise and the hand that’s suddenly on the back of his neck, a hint of pressure that has his head bowing until his cheek hits the mattress. “Don’t move.”

Alex shudders again when the hand from his neck slides in a smooth stroke along his spine, raising goosebumps on his skin in its wake. Before Alex has a chance to catch his breath the sudden swipe of a tongue against his entrance makes him gasp his hips rocking forward out of pure surprise before George grabs him with both hands to keep him still.

It doesn’t take long before Alex is begging, breathless gasps and pleas dropping from his lips as George takes him apart with just his tongue. It’s _filthy_ and Alex can’t stop babbling, his skin on fire, shaking from the effort of holding still as George eats him out. Just when Alex thinks he can’t take any more and his begging dissolves into wordless whimpering, the slick press of George’s tongue suddenly disappears and Alex lifts his head and whines, pressing his hips back without thinking.

“I thought I told you not to move,” he hears George growl, right before a hand lands in a sharp smack across his ass. It’s not as forceful as Alex expects, given George’s obvious strength, but it’s enough to bring him back to the task and he bites his lower lip, bowing his head again.

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye as George leans forward, the soft click of the top of the lube bottle his only warning before a cool, slick finger presses into him. He inhales sharply at the stretch of his body accommodating to the intrusion. George’s fingers are broader than his own and when he adds a second Alex moans, his muscles burning with the effort of keeping still and not fucking himself back on those fingers like he so desperately wants to.

Just as before, George takes his sweet time, completely silent as he works his fingers in and out of Alex slowly, adding more lube until Alex is pliant and shuddering beneath him, gasping with every inhale, every time George’s fingers just barely avoid brushing his prostate, too perfectly angled to be anything but deliberate. “Please,” he whimpers, too far gone to care about maintaining any sort of dignity. “Just fuck me. _Please_.”

George’s fingers twist on the next stroke, curling to hit his prostate, and the edges of Alex’s vision go white as he reflexively grinds down on that touch; he needs more, it’s both somehow too much and not enough. Before he can find the words to beg for more, George is pulling his fingers away. He feels empty without them and bites back a whimper, but it’s only a brief moment before he hears the sound of a condom wrapper and then he’s gasping as George fits the head of his cock against Alex’s entrance and pushes in, just slowly enough that Alex can savor every second until his ass is flush with George’s hips.

He feels so full now and it’s perfect, but he still wants--no, _needs_ \--more, and rocks his hips back in not-so-subtle invitation. George’s wide grip on his hips tightens briefly, the only warning before he begins to fuck Alex in earnest. Sparks dance along every nerve ending and Alex’s mouth drops open as he gasps, curling his fists into the sheets.

His own neglected cock is desperately hard at this point, straining and flushed against his stomach, and Alex leans all his weight on one hand so he can wrap the other around his dick, choking on a moan as George’s next thrust hits his prostate in just the right way to make his vision white out at the edges.

Distantly, Alex is aware that he’s babbling now, mostly wordless cries mixed with pleas that echo off the hotel room walls, but it seems to be working--he hears George’s breathing get heavier and the hands on Alex’s hips gripping so hard now that there’s definitely going to be marks tomorrow.

“Fuck, fuck, _c’mon,_ ” Alex begs, so close to the edge he can practically taste it. George lands another sharp smack against his ass and that’s all it takes for Alex to cry out as he comes hard, fingers slick and sticky with his own come as he works his cock in his fist. George doesn’t last more than a few more thrusts before he groans and shudders hard, the rhythm of his hips stuttering to a halt.

All the strength seems to flee from Alex’s body and he shifts face-first into the soft hotel sheets with a groan, the familiar feeling of being spent and well-fucked sinking deep into his bones. He feels George pull out, winces a bit at the soreness as he shifts on the bed and turns his head to watch George cross the room into the master bathroom.

Alex closes his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts--he should probably just get out of bed and get dressed, get out before it gets awkward. He’s not generally a cuddler and George doesn’t seem the type to want Alex to spend the night anyway, so it’s probably best if he just gets the fuck out of there.

He doesn’t notice George returning until the mattress dips next to his head and he looks up, meeting George’s vaguely amused gaze as the older man holds out a damp washcloth. “You’re welcome to a shower, if you want,” he adds as Alex takes the washcloth and does his best to clean himself up as quickly as possible.

“Thanks, but I think I’m just gonna…” Alex jerks his head towards the door with an awkward smile. This is the part he hates with one-night stands; after the sex, things just get weird. Which is yet another reason to never hook up with the same guy twice--at least that way, he never has to worry about the awkwardness spanning multiple days. It’s just better that way.

For a brief moment, Alex would almost swear that George looks disappointed, but any sign of that is gone in a flash as he nods, shifting away from Alex on the bed so he has room to get up. “Of course. Do you want me to call a cab for you?”

Alex glances at the clock on the bedside table and shakes his head--it’s late, but the trains are still running and a cab is way too expensive to get him all the way back uptown. “Nah, I’ll be fine.” He flashes George a brief smile, hoping it comes off more confident than he feels, and slides out of bed. Thankfully, the majority of his clothes are still in the bedroom so he gathers them up and ducks into the ridiculously opulent bathroom to get dressed and splash some water on his face, pulling back his hair with one of the extra hair elastics he always keeps in his pocket.

Reminding himself to grab his jacket and tie from the hallway floor before he forgets and leaves them behind, Alex steps out of the bathroom. He’s a little disappointed to see that George has put his boxers and shirt on again (he’d been looking forward to one last look), but at least it’s only an undershirt that clings to him like a second skin so there’s something for him to stealthily admire one last time. He’s sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, and studying something on his phone. He doesn’t look up when Alex comes out of the bathroom, fingers working the last few buttons on his shirt.

Alex pauses in the doorway to the bedroom and looks back at George. He hates this part, would rather just leave and not have to say anything, but he doesn’t want to be rude either. Not when George had been pretty nice to him even outside of the fantastic sex they’d had. “Thanks for the drink.” It seems weird to leave on that note, so he adds “Have a good night.”

“You too, Alex.” George looks up from his phone and gives Alex a faint smile, just the upward curve of one corner of his mouth. It’s an image that sticks with Alex during the subway ride back to his apartment, and it’s the last thing he thinks about as he falls asleep in his own bed, fingers tracing lightly over the bruises George left on his hip.

\--

Alex tries not to think too much about that night afterwards, though it does make the occasional appearance when he’s trying to get himself off. He doesn’t stop picking up the occasional one night stand, but he finds himself trending towards older men more often. Most of them are decent lays but none of them seem to push Alex’s buttons the way George had done. It’s almost enough to make him wish they’d traded phone numbers.

John takes him up to his parents’ house in the Hamptons after their graduation and they get drunk on expensive scotch to celebrate. There’s a bottle of Lagavulin in the liquor cabinet, nearly empty, and Alex sneaks it in his bag when they leave. Henry Laurens won’t miss it.

Six months later, with his joint degree in hand and his bar exam passed, Alex is on his third interview of the week and starting to get irritated with the entire process. His resume is impeccable, his references are outstanding, and his joint degree should be opening all sorts of doors to him. Instead, he’s wearing a suit he could barely afford the credit card debt for, sitting in the expensively decorated lobby of yet another law firm, waiting for an interview. At least this time it’s with a firm that has an actual reputation in his area of specialty and not just another class action churn machine.

“Mr. Hamilton?” The receptionist at the desk gives him a little smile as she gestures for him to come toward her. “Mr. Washington is ready for you.”

It feels like Alex has met every damn lawyer in this firm already on this marathon interview, but Washington apparently is the last hurdle according to the HR person he’d met with that morning. Alex doesn’t know anything about him other than his reputation as a hardass, but he steels himself for yet another dismissive rich guy who only sees Alex as an opportunity to flaunt a diversity hire. He’s turned down two job offers already from places like that, and this will probably be the third.

The receptionist opens the door and announces him, then gestures for Alex to go inside. Stepping into the large corner office, Alex is immediately struck by two things:

Whomever decorated the lobby of this place definitely had no input on Washington’s office; compared to the opulent lobby it’s practically spartan, all clean lines and dark wood with minimal decoration. Much more to Alex’s tastes. He’d appreciate it more if not for th fact that sitting behind the desk is _George_ , who looks utterly shocked to see Alex standing in his office.

They stare at each other for a long moment and Alex tries desperately not to think about that night again—the last thing he needs is a boner to take this awkward situation to the next level. How had he missed that George was _George Washington_ , senior partner at the most prestigious international law firm in the entire fucking city? No way is he getting this job now.

Finally, George clears his throat and visibly forces his expression into something more neutral, then gestures at the chair in front of his desk.

“Mr. Hamilton. Have a seat.”

Alex does as instructed, giving himself a minute to readjust his entire strategy for this interview. It probably won't last long--no way is George going to hire him, this is just a formality. His resume is definitely going in the 'never fucking hire this asshole' pile as soon as he walks out that door.

To his surprise, George keeps things entirely professional--he asks about Alex's thesis, his internships, which areas of the firm's practice he's interested in. And Alex finds himself relaxing just a little, getting into the rhythm of talking about his work and the things he's passionate about. When George is finally done questioning him, Alex sneaks a glance at the clock on his desk--it's been nearly an hour, which startles him into silence again.

"Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Hamilton." George rises from his desk and Alex hurries to follow, surprised again when George holds out his hand for Alex to shake. The touch sends a shock through him and Alex stares at George, wishing like hell he could think of something, anything, other than the memory of that broad palm on his skin.

The moment seems to stretch out endlessly before George finally drops Alex's hand and clears his throat. "I expect you'll be hearing from us fairly soon."

"Thank you, Mr. Washington." Alex forces a shaky smile and shoulders his messenger bag again. "It was a pleasure to meet you." _Again_ , he adds in his head, but Washington clearly catches the implied word and nods, his neutral expression slipping for a moment as Alex holds his gaze for a long moment.

“You too, Alex,” he says quietly, and Alex has to force himself to walk away before he does something incredibly stupid.

But oh god, does he ever want to.

-

The email with the offer letter comes the next day.

Alex stares at his laptop, re-reading the offer terms over and over again in disbelief. It’s a formal letter from the firm’s HR department, the basic form letter he imagines everyone gets, but ten minutes after it arrives a second email hits his inbox, this time from a clearly burner email address.

_Alex—_

_I want you to understand the offer of employment was extended purely on the merits of your education, your resume, and your clear passion for this area of law. It has nothing to do with any other experience you may have, nor do I ever expect you to provide any additional services outside the terms of your employment contract._

_Please give the offer a serious consideration. You would be an incredible asset to this firm. If you choose to seek employment elsewhere, I understand, and wish you well._

_-G_

Alex gets up and pours himself a finger of the Lagavulin that he swiped from John’s parents, then reads the email again and again until the words are imprinted on his brain, as deep as the memory of George's hands on his body.

He calls the woman in the HR office an hour later and accepts the job.

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on [tumblr](http://malapertqueen.tumblr.com)
> 
> title is from the song "Bad Idea" from the musical Waitress


End file.
